


ouch

by Magali_Dragon



Series: one shots and other drabbles [11]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: #100 prompts, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempt at Humor, F/M, Fluff and Humor, I would add a tag for a 'character' but don't want to spoil, Short & Sweet, Short One Shot, Tumblr Prompt, season eight? what season eight? got ended at season 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:55:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23219617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magali_Dragon/pseuds/Magali_Dragon
Summary: Dany makes a wrong assumption when Jon tries to hide an injury.  Shenanigans ensue.From Tumblr 100 Prompts list:#6.  "Who gave you that black eye?!; #3.  "H-How long have you been standing there?";and#10.  "If you don’t want to talk about what happened, then say so.  Don’t just lie and say it’s fine.”
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Series: one shots and other drabbles [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1567705
Comments: 54
Kudos: 357





	ouch

**Author's Note:**

> My stab at what should have been a Drabble and ended up being like 4K. I'm so freaking wordy.
> 
> I saw these prompts on Tumblr where I lurk and thought a couple were too funny and this idea just popped into my head. May be slightly inspired by Gilmore Girls episode "Swan Song." Jess and Rory, the OG ship for me.

Jon winces, staring at his reflection in the louvered looking glass atop his wife’s dressing table, hoping he can get away with this before someone notices, or else he’s in for it. He reaches for one of the little silver pots lined up along the edge of the glass, containing the various liquids, powders, and balms he does not know how to properly use, but that he sees her putting on her face before she leaves for meetings in the morning or that Missandei otherwise picks up when she needs extra assistance. 

He finds the one he’s looking for, sighing forlornly at the pale powder, hoping this will do the trick, but it is a considerable shade lighter than his skin tone, courtesy of his wife’s fair Valyrian features. He dabs his finger into the powder, frowning at it on his fingertips and leans forward, touching the mixture to the side of his eye-socket, cringing at the slight pain he feels making its way around his cheekbone. 

“Seven hells,” he mutters, glancing back at the powder and dipping further into it, requiring more if he is going to get away with this. He shakes his head slightly. “I’m going to be in so much trouble…” He trails off, as now looking in the glass he sees another reflection. He gulps, throat constricting and bobbing. 

His wife is staring straight back at him from the doorway.

He barely turns in the chair, dropping the pot back onto the table. “H-How long have you been standing there?” he stutters.

“Long enough.”

 _Fuck_ , he curses inwardly, rolling his eyes as his eyelids close. The dull ache in his left eye socket has become a part of him now, he believes. He will die with it. Considering earlier it felt like someone had shoved a hot poker straight into his face, he thinks it could be worse, except it’s not, because it’s now turned a hideous shade of purple and blue, hence his need for her pomades and powders. He gets up from the chair, ducking his head and trying to walk by her, hand atop Longclaw and the other carding through his hair, sending it askew from its queue. “Well…see you around then…”

“No way, not so fast King in the North.” She pushes him backwards, deceptively strong for someone so small. She quirks one of her brows up, her fingers curling into his leather doublet, while her other hand remains on her hip, which is cocked slightly as she stands back on one leg, a foot shooting out to tap her the toe of her boot on the stone floor. She presses her lips in a line, shaking her head, before she smirks. “I cannot believe you. What happened? Who gave you that black eye!?”

The black eye is not one of the worst he’s had, that one lasted a couple weeks before fading entirely, courtesy of a left hook from Robb while they brawled over something he can no longer even remember. He ducks his head again, trying to get around her, to escape the inquisition. “Nothing, it doesn’t matter.” He sighs. “It’s fine.”

That is not the answer she wants or expects, clearly. She scowls, letting go of him and turning around, her silky dress swirling around her legs, hands back on her hips. “If you don’t want to talk about what happened, then say so. Don’t just lie and say it’s fine,” she growls, a dragon about to go on the warpath. 

It’s a warning, he knows, but the answer is so _embarrassing._ So he continues to lie, say it’s fine. “It’s fine,” he repeats.

“I know what happened.”

He frowns. _How?_ “Oh you do?” His heart flutters, embarrassed heat creeping up the back of his neck. 

She scowls, those hands pinned against her hips gripping at her skirts. Her teeth grit, irritation flashing in her amethyst eyes. “Yes, you were brawling with Daario.”

 _What!?_ He is instantly affronted by such a silly accusation. “No I was not!” 

She does not listen. “That’s why you won’t tell me. Why is it that after two years of him coming from Essos to be in my service here in Westeros that you both must constantly be measuring your cocks?” 

Alright, now he’s angry with her, because she clearly has no faith in him. He has no issue with her former lover, it is her former lover who takes umbrage with him. He actually has married her, has her love and trust and _he_ rules over the Seven Kingdoms with her as the King in the North. “You honestly believe that?” he asks.

“Well why else would you not tell me how you got that black eye and why else are you clearly trying to _hide_ it from me?” she asks. Her eyes are burning, lips pressed in an angry line. He does not understand why she is angry with him, for he has more reason to be angry with _her_ at the moment, for she clearly does not trust him. 

So he remains cool, affecting a theatrical bow. “Well _Your Grace_ I shall take my leave; I do not believe you wish to be in the company of those you do not trust.”

“Only when it’s my husband,” she hisses. She shakes her head, silver braids unmoving from her tight elaborate style. She waves her fingers, dismissing him. “Get out.”

“Gladly!” 

He storms from her chambers, needing very much to hit something—or someone—which probably is not a good thing as it is the very notion of him hitting someone that has her all upset with him. For no reason other than sheer mistrust. He believes if he does come upon the sellsword, he may go ahead and hit him, even when he has no reason to at the moment. He supposes he can find a reason. Then she can be angry at him for a reason thing, not some perceived issue. 

He finds himself in the training yard, lightly touching the elbow of Grey Worm. “This one thinks you need to fight,” the Unsullied commander observes, rather entertained. He chuckles. “Did King get into fight with the Queen?”

“Something like that.”

“What happened to your eye?”

“Nothing,” he mumbles, unsheathing Longclaw. He nods towards Grey Worm’s spear. “Let’s get on with it.”

“Very well.”

~/~/~/~

Dany ends up in her solar, sipping wine rather pettily, scowling down into the training yard where she sees Jon fighting with Grey Worm. She hears a sound behind her, turning her head slightly, chin down, and gazing out of the corner of her eye, seeing Daario approach. She snorts. “What are you doing here?”

“Came to see if my queen is well.”

“I am fine, please leave, you were not invited.”

“You didn’t used to mine when I invited myself,” Daario chortles, sweeping flowers around her shoulder into her line of sight. She takes them, peers at them, and then thrusts them back to him, uncaring if he is hurt. He scowls. “You also used to like my flowers.”

“I only like blue winter roses,” she says. _And only when a dark, irritating, sullen Northerner gives them to me. Preferably with a blush on his cheeks because he never does such things. Too direct for niceties like courting._

Daario ruffles his feathers a bit, trying to save face. “I just assumed, you were arguing with the King…”

She smirks up at him. “You think because we argued once that means I want you in my bed? My, my, Captain Naharis, I may have to send you back to Essos, I clearly do not need someone so stupid in my employ.” 

He glares, no longer trying to seduce her. “Well, one can hear your arguing from the ends of the keep.”

“It was one argument.”

“You have many.”

Many arguments with Jon were some of her most treasured times. He never allowed her to make a decision without questioning it, even if he agreed with her course of action. He was stubborn, irritating, and downright uncouth when he could be. It was why she loved him as desperately as she did. It was why they ruled as well as they did together. They complimented each other. Jon could be rash, could be impulsive, but he did not act unless he knew her thoughts. Which was why it was so hard for her to understand why he would fight with Daario, get injured, and refuse to tell her of it. 

She glances at Daario, scowling; he has not a scratch on him. That would be odd, for Jon to sustain injury and Daario not having any mark. “Why did you fight with Jon?” 

“Fight with your King?” Daario chuckles again, thumbs in his belt, tugging it down. She rolls her eyes at the obvious attempt to get her to look at his belt buckle. “Why would I do that Your Grace? I know full well if I fight with your King, I will be on the next ship back to Essos, and I am not so stupid to do that.”

 _Fuck, that’s true._ She scowls. “You didn’t fight with him?”

“No, I try to stay away from him. Besides, he’s too little for me to fight.”

“Get out.” She needs to think. 

Daario scowls again. “Are you sure?”

“Get out, before I throw you out and allow my King to cut you into tiny pieces to feed to his dragon,” she threatens. As if on cue, one of her dragons roars from wherever they are hiding atop the Red Keep; Rhaegal quite enjoys the very top tower to sun himself, although Drogon had been wandering around up there earlier, so she can’t be sure. If she’s not mistaken, Viserion is doing cartwheels over the Blackwater, so it is definitely one of her other sons.

The sellsword sweeps to a bow. “Very well Your Grace.”

Dany waits for him to leave, slamming the door behind him before she is up to her feet, hurrying away from her solar and making her way to the Small Council Chamber She ignores the surprised calls of Lady Olenna, her Mistress of Coin, who is sitting at the table with Ser Davos. “Davos I wish to ask…” she trails off, studying his right eye. She frowns. “How did you get that black eye?”

“Ah…”

“Don’t you lie to me!” She pins a dark look on him, warning, using her most imperious voice. “I am the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and I will have an answer. How did you get that black eye and does it have anything to do with why the King sports a similar one?”

Olenna chuckles, picking up her wine glass, murmuring over the rim. “Might as well tell her, my Lord Hand.”

Davos smiles weakly. “Well Your Grace…”

Dany’s eyebrows arch, waiting his reply.

~/~/~/~

“Jon!”

Jon barely has time to look up from the raven messages awaiting him on his desk, a task he very much hates, but as King in the North who lives in the South, he has to rely on Sansa for updates and news—and on Arya for the real truth—before the parchment in his fingers rips free, slicing the pad of his thumb with a sharp sting. “Seven hells!” 

He cannot even shout _What the bloody hells woman!?_ at his wife like he wants, because her little arms are suddenly around his neck, her mouth crushing hot against his, and her legs springing her from the floor and into his lap, almost knocking him clean out of his chair onto his arse. He muffles his response, unsure why she is kissing him, especially when they had argued before. Sometimes their arguments end with this though, but he’s still not happy with her assumption that he got into a fight with Daario because apparently, he’s so insecure in their relationship. 

Except she’s Dany and she’s kissing him and she’s all hot skin and tastes like lemons and smells like flowers and feels like fine silks. He stands his ground, waiting for her to break away, before he scowls. “Oh, you forgive me now? Well I don’t forgive you!” _Maybe. Maybe I do._ There is a very singular part of his body that is greatly forgiving her, especially how she wiggles in his lap the way she is, trying to kiss him again and also inspect his eye once more. “What is this all about now?”

“I’m a fool, I am so sorry for doubting you,” she sniffs; he realizes she’s crying a bit, a few tears leaking out of the corners of her shining amethyst jewel eyes, staring earnestly into his. She threads her fingers through his curls, knotting them around the base of his head. “I love you so much and I am so sorry for just assuming, it was wrong of me. I just get nervous with you both sometimes, I know Daario lives to upset you and I just…oh Jon I am sorry. Sometimes I just…I don’t know. I just feel these feelings now and then that this is all going to go away like some awful dream.” 

“And you sometimes find things that aren’t true to prove it,” he whispers, understanding her wholeheartedly. It is the same for him, waking up and wondering when he will be back at the Wall, in a freezing cell-like room surrounded by all the black brothers in leather and furs, stalking about like crows instead of in the big bed he shares with his queen, ruling over the Seven Kingdoms and having everything he has ever wanted in life, a family and friends and…and everything she represents. Everything _they_ represent. He nods, kissing her softly. “I understand.”

She dabs her fingers gently along his cheekbone, shaking her head, sighing. “I’m sorry I didn’t give you a chance to explain, but Jon!” She scowls, reprimanding him, exasperated more than angry. “You should have told me!”

“I didn’t want you to get upset.”

“I’m not upset about it, I mean, I made a foolish judgment instead.” She climbs off his lap, shaking her head, bemused once more, rolling her eyes. “Are you so gentlemanly you cannot tell me what happened or is it because you are embarrassed?”

“Well…” He pauses. He frowns, even if the crinkling of his brow pains his eye. “How do you know what happened?”

Dany smirks, her hands squeezing his. “Davos sports a similar injury.”

“Oh.”

“Come on then, let’s go see the brawler.”

~/~/~/~

Dany greets one of the Dothraki guards, who stands watch over the room, entering the suite just beside theirs, nodding to a Dothraki nurse who is folding linens fresh from the laundry. She says something in their tongue, which he never did pick up very well. He can argue with the screamers and train with them and command them in battle, but sometimes the day-to-day words go over his head. He’s just grateful he’s getting Valyrian down fairly well, even if she cringes at his accent.

He enters ahead of her, staring down at the instigator. The one who started this all. He shakes his head, smirking. “You’re in for it, she’s not happy with you.”

The Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Mother of Dragons, and Breaker of Chains could have grown men quaking in their boots with her imperious stare, her cool voice, and her unyielding power and authority. She rides dragons, she burns her enemies, and she alone rules over two of the largest swaths of territory in the known world. 

Yet upon entry to the room, her arched brows, folded hands, and ramrod straight back all crumple into a mushy pile of nothing at the sight of the dark-haired child on a pile of furs, little curls licking from stubby braids and matching amethyst eyes shimmering up at the entry of the Queen. The child grins, gummy smile and bubbling laugh. “Ma!” she exclaims, arms lifting for her mother. 

“Oh! _Issa prumia_!” _My heart_ , he knows the endearment. She reaches and lifts the little girl, tiny legs flailing, giggles loud, and swings her into the air, laughing with the child. “I love you so much! Muna is here, Muna heard that you did something today, did you hurt your Papa? Hmm?”

The child looks over her shoulder, grinning at him and waving. “Ave!” She routinely uses the Dothraki term for ‘father’ for him, which he actually really enjoys. Then again, she can call him a bastard and he probably would not mind, because it is his daughter and he loves her very, very much. 

“I tried to save you,” he tells her, but she giggles, uncaring. 

Dany glances at their daughter, wagging her finger and tapping her little nose. “Did you hurt Ave today? Hmm? And Grandfather Davos?”

“Davos!”

“Yes, Davos. Also Ave.”

He sighs, kneeling to lift up the training sword from the floor, setting it on a chest in the corner where she cannot reach it. “It was just a training sword. I guess I didn’t want you to think our daughter was getting violent or that I gave it to her too soon. I didn’t want you to think I was being a bad father.” He feels foolish, for keeping it from her like that. 

She smirks, not unkindly, still more exasperated than anything. “Oh Jon,” she sighs, walking over to him. They share a kiss, long and sweet, breaking when their daughter slaps at his cheek, wishing to be in his arms. “You know nothing.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“I love you,” she giggles, kissing him one more time, before she trains her gaze on their daughter. “And you, little miss! Perhaps we do not use the training swords to injure our fathers and grandsires, yes?”

The baby almost shrugs, sticking fingers in her mouth and setting her head on his shoulder, wide purple eyes blinking slowly, a sign she is tired. He squeezes her, kissing her forehead. “Come, let’s go see where Ghost is hiding.”

“You will tell me though next time our year-old daughter decides to slug you though, right?”

He sighs. “So long as you tell me.”

“I will not be letting you live this down, of course.”

“Of course.”

~/~/~/~

Jon whistles under his breath, feeling a slight spring in his normally dour steps, quite pleased he had a good training session with the Dothraki and Grey Worm. He cannot wait to tell Dany that he has _finally_ warranted the bestowment of an arakh by the head of her Screamers, a terrifying man with coal-black eyes named Rono. “Dany! Guess what!” He pushes into her dressing room, where she likely is preparing for her evening bath or maybe even bathing the baby. It is late, as he had a few mugs of ale and barely stomached the Dothraki mare’s milk in celebration of his accomplishment.

He may also be a little drunk.

He steps into her area of the room, slightly tipsy, pressing a bit harder on the door as he leans in. “Dany! Wife! Where are you?”

“Uh…in here.”

He frowns, not liking the sound of her voice. He begins to disrobe, tripping over his articles of clothing as he drops them in a trail to their bedchamber. “I thought you would be in your other room. The one where you get dressed.” He wiggles his eyebrows, voice darkening. “Unless of course you’re not dressed…” He looks forward to that option very much, shrugging off his gambeson. He stops and stares at Dany, who is on the bed, wearing one of her pretty lace robes, her long silver hair unbraided and hanging over her face and shoulder. He grins, leaning to pull off his boots, throwing them aside. “You’re ready for bed early.”

“Hmm.”

He trips over to the bed, crawling on all fours up to her, swinging his leg over her knees so he’s straddling her, before he lightly falls back on his haunches. “What’s wrong? You’re acting very strange.” She has not lifted her face. “Dany?”

“Don’t make fun.”

“Of what?”

“Well…I thought perhaps I would let Rhae come fly with me so I put her on my chest in the sling that I usually use and well…” 

He frowns, reaching to lift her hair from covering her face, only to stifle a snort—or a laugh—instead trying to keep his face stern, comforting and worried. “Oh…it is not so bad.” Except he cannot help himself, making another sound akin to a giggle. 

“Stop laughing!”

“I’m sorry my queen.”

She punches him, scowling. “Oh shut up.” Her fingers lift to the black bruise forming along her cheekbone. “Is it so bad?”

“Never.”

“She just flung her little arm up and… _bang_!”

“Oh I believe it.”

Dany rolls her eyes, pushing him back. “You are the worst.”

“Hey, at least I didn’t accuse you of getting into a fight with one of my ex-lovers.” Not that that was even possible, unless ghosts were real and could fight.

“Jon, let’s be real, there were no ex-lovers were there?”

He scowls, affronted, even if it is sort of true. “I will have you know there was!”

She lifts her eyebrow. “One, Jon. There was one.” She straddles his waist, leaning to kiss him. “It’s fine, because you’re mine”

“Hmm, all yours.” He lightly touches her face again, cringing at the mark, even if it was obtained rather innocently. “Quite the little fighter, our sweet Rhae.”

“Fighter is a word for it.”

They laugh, leaning back in to kiss, but he shakes his head, chuckling again. “We match you know.”

“Something tells me we’re going to have a lot of matching scars as the parents to little miss Rhaella Lyanna Snow Targaryen the Princess of Dragonstone.”

“The Realm’s Hope.” 

They both smile at each other, leaning in again, just as the door banged open, a babbling princess racing in, arms in the air, shouting something about how “Miss Miss” let her in. He sighs, knowing Missandei probably needed a break and this was her way of saying so. He glances at their daughter, waving her toy sword around. “Well, guess we will have to wait.”

“Rhae!” she exclaims. “Stop waving that.”

“I’ve got it.” He climbs from the bed, going over to get Rhae, kneeling at the same time she spins, swinging the sword.

Dany gasps. “Jon! Watch out!”

“Ow!”

**fin.**

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a review if you wish and thanks for reading!


End file.
